


caught up in your heartstrings

by celestialfics



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Insomnia, M/M, Mindless Fluff, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 08:14:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28596771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celestialfics/pseuds/celestialfics
Summary: It’s not until he’s reaching for something that isn’t there that Martin actually wakes up, blinking hard into the darkness and patting the empty bed beside him with an open hand. His eyebrows furrow for a moment, mind bleary. He throws a glance to the nightstand, where the clock reads 3:04 AM.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 6
Kudos: 106





	caught up in your heartstrings

**Author's Note:**

> its another day. i log into ao3. i read a scottish safehouse fic. i post a scottish safehouse fic. this is the jonmartin experience

It’s not until he’s reaching for something that isn’t there that Martin actually wakes up, blinking hard into the darkness and patting the empty bed beside him with an open hand. His eyebrows furrow for a moment, mind bleary. He throws a glance to the nightstand, where the clock reads 3:04 AM. 

Martin blinks again once, then twice, before he sits up and rubs at the back of his neck. Jon’s missing. Keenly aware of Jon’s trouble sleeping, Martin isn’t as shocked by the revelation as he could be; it’s happened before, certainly, in the couple weeks they’ve been staying at Daisy’s Scottish cabin. 

It’d been daunting at first, sharing a bed. But after the first night when both men had lain side-by-side, board straight and not daring to touch each other lest they make the other feel uncomfortable, they decided to have a talk on boundaries. It cleared things right up, and brought Jon’s insomnia to light. The next night, Jon slung an arm across Martin’s chest and Martin relaxed at the touch, planting a kiss to the top of Jon’s mussed hair. When he woke up hours later and Jon was sitting in bed reading a book by the dim light on the nightstand, Jon gently urged him to go back to sleep, and he easily did. 

So, really, it’s not unusual for Jon to be up in the middle of the night. Given their life circumstances, though, the ugly nervous feeling that begins to claw at Martin’s rib cage upon waking to an empty bed doesn’t feel unwarranted. 

Before his mind runs wild with kidnapping scenarios, Martin stands from the bed and pads quietly to the door to investigate. When he reaches the end of the hall and peeks his head around the corner, he sees Jon perched on a chair in front of a window, knees pulled up to his chest. The moonlight casts directly onto him, illuminating the silver in his hair. And Martin loves him, wholly. 

“Hello, Martin,” Jon says without looking back. “What are you doing up?” 

Martin allows himself a low chuckle, “Making sure you’re still here.” 

At this, Jon peers back over his shoulder and blinks curiously. “You thought I would leave?” 

“No, no,” Martin replies immediately, “I meant more in the...uh, forcible removal type of way.” 

After a morbid snicker of his own, Jon reaches over to pat the chair beside him, beckoning Martin to sit. “No, I’m just fine. No murder attempts tonight.” 

“Yet.” 

“Are you threatening me?” 

Martin just laughs, sitting down and casting a glance out the window. The moonlight paints the dewy grass metallic. 

“Is there anything you want to talk about?” Martin then asks carefully, hands clasped in his lap. 

Jon bites at his lower lip for a moment before he says, “Basira is sending statements soon, which should help me feel better. A bit, at least. But I think—being away from the Institute, it doesn’t help with the… uhm, nightmares.” 

Martin’s lips pull into a frown. 

“It’s nothing we can help, obviously, not until… well, who knows when,” Jon says, “And they’re not as—not the same as the nightmares I had when comatose. They’re more manageable, I suppose.” 

“I wish you didn’t have to just  _ manage, _ ” Martin says. 

Jon’s laugh is dry. “You and I both.” 

Over the armrests of the chairs, Jon reaches for Martin’s hand. Martin meets him halfway, entwining their fingers. They sit in silence for a short while, watching the wilderness outside the window. 

When Martin suppresses a yawn, Jon says, “You don’t have to stay up, you know.” 

“I know,” Martin responds, gently squeezing Jon’s hand. “I want to keep you company, though. Would you say no to tea?” 

Jon’s resulting grin is soft. “How could I say no?” 

The kitchen and the living room are attached, but Jon stands with Martin and follows him to the kitchen regardless. As Martin prepares the kettle, Jon wraps his arms around Martin’s torso, setting his chin on Martin’s shoulder. When he tilts his head to press a kiss to the side of Martin’s neck, Martin can’t help the shiver that runs down his spine. Once the water begins to heat, Martin turns around and wraps Jon into a hug. 

They sway slightly together, and Jon begins to hum a tune. Martin can’t place it, but he revels in the sound, continuing to sway back and forth in time. 

Then, Jon’s hands find their way to the nape of Martin’s neck, fingers tangling in the ends of his hair, and Jon kisses him, soft and slow. Martin’s eyes flutter closed as he sinks into the touch, just when the kettle picks the opportune time to begin whistling. 

They pull apart with breathy laughter, Martin having to forcefully tear his gaze from Jon—in his messy haired, sleep deprived glory—in order to take the kettle off the heat. The only mugs here are a couple Daisy must have purchased; one is plain black with a chip in the bottom, the other a light brown with a cream colored handle. Martin carefully pours the boiling water over the tea bags before he reaches for the sugar he’d bought at a shop in the village. The clink of the spoon against the side of the mug as Martin stirs in the sugar reverberates around the room. 

Once both mugs of tea have been prepared, they return to their chairs. Martin watches the steam roll off the top of his mug—the brown one—where he set it on the windowsill. 

“Thanks for checking on me,” Jon says suddenly, over the rim of his mug. 

Martin looks to him. “Of course,” he says, “I know you said we’re safe here, but it’s impossible not to worry sometimes.” 

“I understand that,” Jon responds, trying a sip of his tea and wincing at the heat. Martin suppresses an amused chuckle. “I suppose I’d be more concerned if you  _ didn’t  _ worry.”

“Fair enough,” Martin agrees, reaching for his mug.

When he starts to drink his tea, the heat of it makes him realize how tired he is. His eyelids begin to droop, and Jon notices as much, casting him a warm, fond smile. 

“Let’s head to the bedroom once we’ve finished,” he says, and Martin hums his approval. 

It’s nearing four in the morning by the time they’re both tucked back into bed, but with no strict schedule to abide by—certainly no work schedule to follow—Martin can’t bring himself to be too concerned about it. They work with the cards they’ve been dealt, anyway, and sleeping in until eleven is hardly much of a sacrifice when comforting Jon is on the line. 

Martin turns his head to peer at Jon in the dark, and he can barely make out his features: eyes closed, lips slightly parted. He lifts a hand to stroke Jon’s hair out of his face before he leans to press a chaste kiss to his forehead. 

“Good night, Jon.” 

**Author's Note:**

> and then nothing bad happens ever <3
> 
> find me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/liquidsaints) & [tumblr](http://liquidsaints.tumblr.com/)
> 
> thanks for reading!


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